Midnight
by ap-q-n
Summary: It's almost midnight, the bullpen is empty, and he doesn't think he can make it. Caskett. One-shot.


**Author's Note:** _This was first going to be part of my other story Wordsmith, but it came out a little longer than expected so I decided to put it separate. And - I would say that Caskett is not established in this story. Until now. Sorry for any mistakes. Hope you enjoy._

**Disclaimer:** Oh, I would rather be sitting in a room with the Castle writers than bored out of my mind here at home. Oh well.

* * *

He doesn't think he can make it. He decides that if he has the time, if he has the chance – he'll ask someone to tell Alexis and his mother that he's sorry for dying and his bank account has plenty of money that will last them a few years. He doesn't remember if he wrote a will already, but he hopes his things are taken care of. He also makes sure to add to his message for Alexis and Martha to go on living happily, graduate college, succeed with the acting school, start a family, adopt a fish.

Because right now, pressing up Kate Beckett against the wall of the break room in the precinct with her tongue shoved down his throat surely isn't helping him live a long, sensible life.

Or maybe it is.

It's almost midnight, and the bullpen is empty. Ryan and Esposito, the last of the officers, left a couple minutes earlier and the moment the elevator doors closed, Beckett grabbed Castle's shirt and dragged him into the break room for… this.

He isn't even sure what caused her to do this, because really, he's the one who can't keep control when it comes to her, to them. But he's enjoying it anyway.

Her chest is pressed full against his, her back arching as he runs his fingers down her sides and across her stomach and up her spine and into her soft hair. His tongue is battling with hers and his hair is mussed because she keeps running her fingers through it and her hand is at his neck and then his ear and on his chest and –

Oh God. They are _making out in the police station_ and Castle's pretty sure that all of his fantasies about Kate are coming true. He slides a hand under her shirt (it's _white_) and he can feel her shudder at his touch. His mouth travels from her wet lips to her jaw, and then her neck, sucking and nibbling as he goes. She gasps and grabs at his shoulders, his back, just trying to hold onto something so she doesn't sink to the floor.

Rick's hand moves further up her blouse, fingers teasing the skin. She goes to unbutton his shirt and he returns to her mouth, crashing lips upon lips, full of desire. Beckett gets halfway down with his shirt buttons and her hands roam his chest.

She's moaning and he is _very_ positive that if he hears that one more time he will faint but also he needs to hear it again. Her tongue presses into his mouth and he groans, hands groping her sides, going higher and higher, and she –

"Ahem."

They freeze. They literally stop, lips stop and hands stop and then it's all going so fast and they're at least three feet away from each other, fixing hair and straightening shirts, eyes wide as if they were caught lurking through the kitchen and into the cookie jar.

Ryan shifts uncomfortably at the entrance of the room. He deliberately strays his eyes away from Castle and Beckett.

Their hair is a mess, lips swollen and faces red. The writer's shirt is halfway open and his partner's seems wrinkled beyond repair.

"I – um. I left my, uh, jacket here. In the break room," Kevin stutters, looking up at the ceiling, down at the floor – anywhere away from the people who almost had sex in a place where dozens of people, including him, visit everyday for coffee and snacks. He can't walk into this room without being mentally scarred again.

"O-okay. Uh. Here," the writer says, moving to the couch to grab the jacket and handing it to the intruding detective.

Ryan grabs his coat with two fingers, trying to touch as little as the fabric as possible, because _who knows where_ _Castle's fingers have been_ and probably all the sex germs have transferred onto him now.

Sex germs? The detective makes a mental note to look up if there are such things. Most likely a yes.

"I – I'll get going. You can… err. Continue. Or. Something," he stammers, and hastily makes his exit, walking comically in his rush to _get out of the place_.

Castle glances at his partner, seeing that she is standing shellshocked, face deep red in embarrassment. "You okay?" he hesitantly asks, still a little hazy from the previous events (the _previous previous _ones, not the previous).

Kate turns her head to him and lets out a little cough. "Uh – yeah. Fine."

"Um, okay. Good."

"Yeah."

They stand awkwardly for a moment, both thinking about nothing and everything. The writer sweeps his eyes around the dim break room, when all of a sudden she is close and her lips are pressing into his once more, and before he can respond she pulls away.

"See you tomorrow," she smirks, as if not affected by the interruption anymore, sauntering to her desk to collect her belongings. Kate turns around, eyes dark. "I'll call in sick."

He can only gape at her retreating figure.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Thoughts?_


End file.
